Dear NOKBEW™ – Blog visitors
Journey into Disaster
I proudly present chapter
2.09. The nightmare in the dungeon
(Continuation of the chapter 2.03.)
Officer Sarang is in a good mood and sprints back to the police station, through the first gate of the wire fence before jumping sportily over the sewer. I almost broke my foot there this morning.
Now I’m sitting on the lower bunk bed and staring into the pile of garbage. Nothing moves or rustles in there. The watch shows seven o’clock. After the little sleep last night and the simple but delicious breakfast, I get tired quickly. Exhausted, I lie on my right side. My arm is my pillow. I don’t even remember the worse condition of the cardboard on the bed. Sleep falls over me like a black cloth. I register the slight throbbing under the band aid on the back of my left hand while I’m still half asleep. Then I’m sleeping finally.
The nightmare leaves me flying in a jumbo jet full of garbage. I am the only passenger. The destination is unclear, loneliness grabs me. After a short, restless flight, the entire crew said goodbye to me with a handshake on the aircraft door. Instead of the uniform of an airline, the entire team wears dark blue police uniforms and flip-flops. In addition to the uniform, the captain is adorned with an oversized police hat with a blood-red ribbon. He grins broadly, reveals disgusting teeth, and hands me a simple box. The thin cardboard is damp and has water and mold stains. It suddenly smells earthy, musty and of damp paper. The captain continues to grin oily and whispers in barely understandable English: “Sir, this is our present to you.” His grin dies and he orders: “Open the box!” In the box are highly polished and shiny chrome handcuffs. The crew laughs loudly. Some take photos and crack jokes, others shout: “Oh, my God — oh, my God!”
The stewardess is short and stout and her laminated ID dangles from under the big boobs. She makes a grimace and speaks German: “Our present to you. For your future!”
In a panic, I rush out of the plane, down the gangway, past all the control areas, across the airport.
A security officer rushes after me. He bears a striking resemblance to Officer Sarang: “Mister Heger, sir,” he calls out, “Mister, please stand still, please wait! There’s good news for you!”
“Mister Heger, Sir,” I hear from far away, “Mister Heger, sir, wake up, Ma’am Papillio wants to speak to you.” The bunch of keys jingles and the lattice door is already creaking. I find it difficult to decipher the watch, dazed and drowsy. After a few seconds it works. It’s almost eight o’clock.
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